


Quill and Sword

by Dawn_Locke



Category: NERO - Fandom, NERO LARP
Genre: Drabble, Exhaustion, F/M, Fluff, LARPing, NPC/PC, political meeting, talk sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 11:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5537972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawn_Locke/pseuds/Dawn_Locke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a scribe and a soldier observe one another during a meeting, a kindred need to speak together alone is born.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quill and Sword

I stared at him. It may not have been the most proper thing to do, but in that moment, all protocol leaked out of my mind. His mouth  _ had  _ quirked into a sly smile, the rogue. Nodding politely and blankly to something the knight beside me had said, I wrenched my eyes away from the soldier who had caught my eye to return to the matter at hand. We were close to the brink of another civil war and I could not imagine a worse fate for our kingdom. Five years of relative peace were to be all for naught? I would hardly think that to be so.

“As I was saying, Your Majesty, I think that a frontal assault would be the most useful and straightforward approach to-”  
“Where would you get the troops?” The high king looked at his advisor, eyes raking over every line in the younger man’s face. It seemed that, in his haste to express his opinion, the director of war had forgotten that His Majesty was a soldier before he was a king and had likely seen more war, more failed and successful tactics, and many more lost men than he himself had even seen take up arms. His Majesty was several decades his senior, though he looked no more than thirty. “There will be much more death than gain from a conquest than people care to admit, Marshall. I think another route should be taken in this case, to ensure both our allies protected and our civilians at ease. Or,” he admitted after a half-second’s thought, “as much at ease as they can be.”

“Begging Your Majesty’s pardon,” the knight who was speaking at me half the meeting evidently had something to say on the matter and I was grateful his attention was not on me any longer. I could just sit back and listen, what I had intended to do all the while. My quill dipped into the inkwell at my left, hovering over my parchment, which was covered in notes from throughout the meeting. We were just hitting some important points, and, as the knight rambled, I felt my hand flying across the sheet, leaving gleaming ink in its wake.  _ He  _ was looking at me again, and he saw that I saw. He winked. The ink splattered across an important point and my quill went directly to the task of fixing that careless mistake. My mind, however, was lost in the thinly veiled spark of  _ something  _ that flickered in the soldier’s eyes. Interest. Mild interest. I resolved not to look at him again.

The meeting wound on and on; my wrist ached and my eyelids kept drooping. All the nobles seemed content to continue the conversations, which had by now wound toward solving another issue in our lands- a war among the clans that was strangling food production- but I could hear a distinct edge to the high king’s voice now.  _ Tired _ , I thought.  _ Both of us. _ He looked at me again and it dawned on him the same thing.  _ Exhausted. Go rest. _

“Gentlemen, ladies. I propose we halt this meeting until tomorrow morning. After breakfast, we may reconvene here in the tavern. I trust that our dear scribe has marked our conversation well enough to pick it up exactly as we are. Good night.” The soldier took up his long-abandoned circlet and stood. I breathed a sigh of relief, scratching the final words on the parchment, as the nobles slowly left me to my packing. Alone at last. Stoppering my ink bottle, I began humming to myself.

_ So this is love. So this is what makes life divine. I’m all aglow and now I know- _

“The key to all happiness is mine.” I froze as I heard the low rumble of a baritone. A finger tapped my shoulder and I turned; the lyrics were definitely out in the open. He stood there, the roguish smile on his lips. “Dance with me?”

“I’m just a-”

“A scribe. And a bard. Dance with me, please.” I set down the ink bottle reluctantly; it was my life line. To be fair, I was a bit pleased with the request, but also more than a little apprehensive. He had stepped back, giving my space to decide, his hand outstretched, hopeful. Looking around the room, I could see that it had emptied. No one from the tavern crew would burst in to clean the private room yet either; they knew to leave it alone until I was done with putting away my meeting parchments. There was just enough room for a small waltz, and he knew my answer as I opened my mouth to reply.

I was there, in his arms, wondering if it was all just a dream.

Maybe it was.


End file.
